My Life Before
by lisehrin
Summary: Tony looks back at his life before moving to Connecticut. Complete.
1. Laughter

_Summary: Tony takes a look back at his life before moving to Connecticut. This is not a Tony/Angela fic, but that relationship does play a role in the story._

_Disclaimer: I revoke any claim to the characters and settings as created and displayed in "Who's The Boss?", the rest however is mine._

_Rating: PG_

_A/N: This is currently a work in progress, so comments and suggestions are not only welcomed, but highly valued. Hope you guys like it!_

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_1..._  
  
The attic had grown dusty. Somewhere in the days between admitting his love for Angela and proposing to her, he had let this part of his job as a housekeeper slide. It wasn't that he was slacking off his duties just because he was seeing his boss. They weren't like that; he wasn't like that. It was just... The attic was a place of memories, folded up and packed away, the place where you send stuff that has been pushed aside by newer things. He had his own share of memories stored there, and the thought of digging them out and reliving them seemed too large of a job. It was something he needed to do though. There was no way he could move on with Angela without first settling his past. He wanted this badly, to move on with Angela. Today he woke up and knew beyond any doubt that he would spend the rest of his life loving her. She'd captured him hook, line, and sinker, and she was everything. But, he'd loved someone else before her, someone whose love built the basis for who he was today. It was a love he couldn't bring himself to forget. Short of forgetting, he knew he had to at least let go. He had to let go so he could move on. So he sighed and lowered himself to the floor, trailing a finger through the layer of dust resting on the box before him. Today he was going to revisit a place he seldom lingered: his past.

* * *

Laughter, that's the first clear memory I have of her, and she was laughing at me. A chorus of giggles as me and Vinny and Philly paraded down the street, proudly showing off our newly acquired tattoos. It was early June and the warmth of the setting sun hadn't faded yet. I was seventeen and just about to take my first step in making my dreams come true. In a day, I would hop on a train up north for a summer of playing A ball. I was joining late in the season, thanks to my Dad's insistence that I finish up the school year, but I was still getting a chance to play the game I loved. And maybe someday it would lead me to bigger things. However, for that one night, I was reveling in a warm Brooklyn evening with my friends, feeling like I was exactly where I belonged.  
  
The tattoos were a whim. A bet made to prove we were tough, and part of proving that was to strut down the street showing off two hours of mind- numbing pain. Marie. She didn't seem to find us cool or macho at all. She just sat there with her friends, laughing her head off at three little boys pretending to be men. That giggle. It rang out through the air, immediately distracting me from whatever the guys were rambling on about. I looked up and saw her sitting on the steps of her building with a superior grin on her flushed and narrow face. I was almost angry until I looked into her eyes, and something about them sent a jolt right through me. I'd known her for almost forever, but this was the first time that I ever really looked at her. In that instant I decided that one day she would be mine, no matter how far in the distant future that would be. She must have sensed something too, because as I looked into her eyes I saw them change. One moment they were dancing with laughter and the next they radiated warmth. She blushed then, and shyly moved a lock of her beautiful long brown hair behind her ear. It made me want her even more. But then one of the girls said something to her, and the spell was broken. She quickly looked away and I turned to catch up with the guys. It could have ended up being just a passing memory, except at the last moment she called out, "Hey Micelli! You only think you're hot stuff!"  
  
I stopped and looked back at her, a stupid, giddy grin crossing my face, and yelled, "Oh I am! You'll see!" She laughed then, but this time it was more of our own private joke. I waved and then chased after my oblivious friends. As we rounded the corner, I could hear her still - the sound of her laughter chasing along behind me. 'Someday..." I thought, and left it at that. 


	2. Memory

_Disclaimer: See Chapter 1. Oh, and Thomas Bailey Aldrich gets credit for the poem.

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_

_2..._  
  
_Memory_  
  
_My mind lets go a thousand things,  
__Like dates of wars and deaths of kings,  
__And yet recalls the very hour-   
__'Twas noon by yonder village tower,   
__And on the last blue moon in May-   
__The wind came briskly up this way,   
__Crisping the brook beside the road;   
__Then, pausing here, set down its load   
__Of pine-scents, and shook listlessly   
__Two petals from that wild rose tree.  
  
-Thomas Bailey Aldrich_

* * *

It's funny what we remember. I grew up in the same neighborhood as Marie, went to the same school, and the same church, but I don't remember much about her until that June day. And I'm sorry to say that I didn't think a whole lot about her afterwards either, at least for most of the next year. 

The summer passed quickly in a haze of hot afternoons practicing on the field and long nights sneaking out to places I shouldn't have gone. In my defense, if you can call it that, I was young and wild, and thought time was on my side. School didn't matter much to me. All I wanted was my friends, a pretty girl at my side, and chance to play ball. My dad though, he made me care. At least, he made me care about the consequences if I didn't go to school.

Senior year was crazy. I was working at the Rossini's Fish Market, singing with the Dreamtones every chance I got, playing all the high school sports, hanging with my friends, and juggling the dual handful that were the Benedetti twins. I was good at juggling though, I'd been doing it my whole life.  
  
I've probably told all of the stories a thousand times, but I always leave out one part, how a pair of dark brown eyes haunted my dreams. She was suddenly everywhere. She was the quiet girl behind me in homeroom, the cheerleader on the sidelines at every home game, the dutiful daughter who came into the fish market twice a week to get the catch of the day for her father. She was everywhere, and yet I'd never paid her any attention. I wasn't so sure that I wanted to get too close. How could one person fill you with such regret and such hope? I hated that it mattered so much what she thought of me. More than that, I hated the thought that she might be too good for me. So I stayed away and had my fun, all the while watching her from the sidelines.  
  
It wasn't until senior prom and the big blow up with the Dreamtones that I finally allowed myself to really see her. I was sitting in a dark corner of the gym stewing in my own anger when I felt someone watching me. I looked up and there she was standing right in front of me, hands posed on her hips like she was just waiting to give me a lecture. I wasn't far off.  
  
"Whatcha think you're doin'?"  
  
"Huh?" She hadn't said anything to me in over a year, what was I supposed to say?  
  
"Tony, it's our prom. Why're you sittin' in the dark, scowlin' at everyone? Because your friends are jerks and fight over stupid things? Because you're a jerk and fought with your friends over a stupid thing?"  
  
My humiliation was complete. Everyone knew I'd blown it. She knew I'd blown it. I just shrugged and tried to look away. Marie wasn't willing to let me off that easy. Before I had a chance to react, she grabbed my hand and dragged me onto my feet. I looked down at her in amazement. For such a tiny girl, she sure had a lot of strength. I couldn't hide the smile that crept up on me. "Whatcha think you're doin'?"

"You're gonna dance. And I'm gonna dance with you. And you're gonna have fun tonight if it kills me." She had such a look of fierce determination in her eyes that I couldn't say no.  
  
So we danced. For the first time in years, I stopped running and slowed down. It didn't hurt that the band was playing a slow dance. Walking her home in the moonlight, my hand worked its way into hers and she looked up at me with the sweetest of smiles. "Maybe you're not the only one who thinks you're hot stuff," she admitted quietly. Then she tiptoed up and kissed me. She took my breath away, and it wasn't just from passion or lust, although I could feel both in spades. There was a place deep inside of me that felt like exploding with happiness just by being near her. Was it love? Who can say anything for certain at eighteen? All I know is that it was enough, and it was the world to me.


	3. Letters

_

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Disclaimer: See Chapter 1._

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_3..._  
  
Tony hadn't made much progress sorting through the boxes. He kept coming across mementos of a lifetime before. A faded photograph of three boys hamming it up for the camera, a shard of glass from the first window he'd ever broken with a baseball (Who says that guys aren't sentimental?), a dried and brittle carnation inside a neatly tied packet of letters... Each piece spoke to him about a part of his life he thought he'd left far behind him. He glanced down at the letters he was holding and laughed to see that his hands were trembling. Hold onto yourself Micelli, they're just a bunch of letters; they're not anything to be scared of. He laughed to himself again, big strong man, and here he was afraid that some bits of paper from the past would what, make him feel? His fingers worked the knot and slowly unfolded the first letter.

* * *

_April 23, 19--  
  
Hey Micelli,  
  
You said to write, so I'm writing. I'm not sure why I'm doing this though, cause you're probably so wrapped up in baseball that you can barely remember me. It's not fair that just when we were starting to become a 'we' you had to pack up and leave. I get it though. One of the things I like best about you is how you're not afraid. Tony Micelli is chasing his dreams and one of these days he's going to grab on to them with both hands. Maybe I'll be around to see it.  
  
Nothing is the same here without you. I probably shouldn't say it, your ego's big enough, but it's still true. I never expected that I'd miss the sight of you strutting down the hall or disrupting the class with one of your crazy stories. I still can't believe you were able to talk your dad and the principal into letting you leave school early. Okay, I know you're not off the hook. You still have to study and come back for exams. But... No more classes, no more books, no more teachers' dirty looks... I know you're loving it. Except for the missing you part, life is pretty good. They say that the last few months of your senior year are golden, and I'm finding out that 'they' are right. I guess I should get going though, English test to study for and all. Take care of yourself, and don't have too much fun without me. _

_Marie  
_  
  
It was the first letter she'd ever written to him and he could hear her soft Brooklyn tones in his head as he read it. Suddenly he was that kid again, jumping around the room in joy, his roommates looking at him like he was crazy, and all because she'd written to him. He leafed through the pile of letters, wondering what he'd written back, but was confused when all he found was more envelopes with her writing on it. What had happened to his letters? He could remember writing them, and he was pretty sure Marie would've kept them. Finally, at about the eighth letter in, he remembered why – she'd thrown them away and after that, he didn't write her anymore. "Nick..." he muttered, feeling the old resentment rise up inside.

* * *

_July 2, 19--  
  
Micelli,  
  
I'm not mad. So, stop calling. Okay? M_

* * *

_July 3, 19--  
  
Micelli. Still not mad. Marie_

* * *

_July 6, 19--  
  
Okay, so I'm a little mad. I mean, you come home for graduation, and everything you've been telling me says that a big part of the reason you were sticking around for a couple of days is to see me. And you came by that first night and it was great, but then nothing? Well, except for that five-minute talk at grad before the guys dragged you off. Real nice Micelli. Way to make a girl feel important. But I guess I'm not, so let's not drag this out. Have a nice life Micelli,  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Marie Milano_

* * *

_July 9, 19--  
  
Tony, I'm so sorry. I talked to Papa and he admitted that he'd kept you from seeing me. Big old grizzly bear. He is – not you, I swear. Don't hold it against him Tony, please. It's just that I'm his little girl and sometimes he gets a little... protective of me. He's been so good lately, and I just can't stay mad at him. He's been working, at a real honest job, and he swears he hasn't been near the track in weeks. All he wants is the best for me, and I think he's decided that no one's good enough. But he's wrong, 'cause I think you might be. I can't believe you came over with flowers and he told you I was out on a date. Oh yeah, a real nice date – Coffee and day-old cookies at Mrs. Fellinio's, talking 'bout her pretty kitties. Grr. Papa just make me so mad sometimes, I just wanna strangle him. But enough. He's sorry. I'm sorry – forgive me? Good, cause this whole not talking thing – not fun. Moving on.... Life, other things.  
  
Oh Tony, just think of it, we're done school now! We're free to be who we choose. It's all so exciting, but I'm finding it a little sad too. Does that seem strange to you? That I would miss school now that it's over? I used to stare up at the clock and wait for it to hit 3:30 so we could escape, but in the past year or so, I've found that I dread the sound of the bell. Sometimes I wonder if this is the best of the best. I know there's lots to look forward to, like being grown up, getting married, and having kids, but whenever I go into the city I look at the girls working there and wonder what it would be like to have their lives. I know it's silly. I've got a real good life right here in Brooklyn. Of course, it would be better if you were here.  
  
One more thing before I go. Could you maybe call instead of writing letters? Papa was reading them and that's why he didn't want you to see me. It's also how I figured all of this out, by catching him, but that's a different story. Take care you,  
  
Marie_

* * *

_Aug 5, 19--  
  
Hiya Sweets! (Okay, I thought I'd try out this nickname, but it doesn't work, so I'll just go back to calling you plain old Tony.)  
  
Dear Plain old Tony,  
  
Gotcha! See what you do to me? You make me crazy. It doesn't matter though, 'cause I'm so happy I could burst. I got a job! It's not much, just helping out in Rosie's dress shop a couple days a week, but it feels so good, to be doing something with my time. Not that I wasn't doing things before, but helping my mother and keeping the neighborhood grandmother's happy wasn't exactly thrilling. I know you think I shouldn't have to work, but that's just the thing Tony, I don't have to work. I want to. Of course, Papa threw a fit when he found out. At least he did at first. Then he got this strange glimmer in his eye and told me it was okay with him. I thought he'd lost it, but then Mama jumped in and told him that the money I made was going to be mine. The glimmer died, but at least he said that I could keep the job. Tony, it's so nice to have some money that's all my own. Funny that it should matter when I've never wanted for anything, but it still feels good.  
  
So, tell me about the team. How are things going? Are the guys still giving you the gears about your accent? I still think it's strange for them to tease you when it's them that have the accent, but what can you do? Why'd you have to go so far away to play ball? I miss you! At least you've only got a couple more months, and then it's home for the winter. Do you think they'll call you up again for next year? You've got talent Micelli, they're all going to see it one of these days. Well, I need to go now; Mama's calling me for dinner. Call me again soon; I can't wait to hear your voice.  
  
Plain old Marie_

* * *

_September 16, 19--  
  
Hey Tone,  
_  
_The summer is dying and I'm counting the days till you come back to me. I was walking down your street last night and a cool wind came rushing past me and I knew that fall was just hiding around the corner. You want to know the funny thing about it? Instead of feeling sad, like I usually do at the thought of another fall and winter, I felt happy. I was happy because it meant you were coming back to me. Is it still hot where you are? A friend told me that the heat hangs in waves at time of year. I hope you're drinking lots of water and not pushing yourself too hard. God, look at me, I've become a sap, and it's all because of you. I never had a diary, but this summer writing to you has been like having one. I keep pouring out my heart to you, and you never complain. Guess that's another reason why I like you.  
  
Saw your father the other day. He looks like he's doing okay, a little tired maybe, but he said it was just a passing thing. He tells everyone he meets about his son, the baseball player. Parents can be so sweet and so odd, can't they? Have you told him about me? I wouldn't ask, it's just that he's never paid much attention to me until lately. Now it's like, 'Hello Marie. How are you Marie?' every time I see him. I'm not complaining though, he seems very nice.  
  
Jeannette and Gina were telling me that..._  
  
His eyes skimmed over the last of the letter. She hadn't written him anymore after that, because well, he grinned, after that there really wasn't much reason to write to him when they were practically joined at the hip. He wondered if she ever knew how much her words had meant to him that summer. He'd been so lonely for friends and family, and her letters had seen him through. He wondered if she ever really knew... Retying the ribbon around the letters, his hand wavered in the air over two distinct piles. A part of him wanted to hold on to them and keep her stored up in these boxes. It made him feel like he was keeping her memory safe. Then he shook his head. Wasn't that the point of this? Letting go? The letters would go to Sam. She deserved to know her mother, and what better way than to read the words she wrote when she was young and falling in love.

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_To be continued..._


	4. Homecomings

_Disclaimer: The usual things apply.

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_

_4...  
_  
What is it about homecomings that make everything seem just about perfect? It doesn't matter if you've been away for a day or a year, but returning to the place and the people you love is an experience like none other. The people and the place had changed over the years, but to Tony it still felt just as good. From his parents, to Marie and Sam, to Angela, he'd always come home to love. Unfolding a yellowed 'Welcome Home' banner, he smiled to himself, realizing how incredibly lucky he was.

* * *

"Tony!" Marie's voice reached across the crowded train platform as I searched the mass of people for a familiar face. Catching sight of her, my heart did a little dance and I rushed over to her, completely forgetting my bags and crowd milling between us. We looked at each other for maybe half a second before I grabbed her and twirled her up into the air. It might have seemed like something out of a movie, but at that moment it was all I wanted to do. Well, that and kiss her, which is what I did next after letting her feet touch the ground. Years later, she'd tease me and tell me that she still felt like she was walking on air around me. I know I felt the same.  
  
In the total time we'd been 'dating' we probably hadn't spent more than a day in the same room together. So it's strange that we never felt awkward around each other. Maybe it was all the letters and phone calls or maybe it was something bigger and deeper between us, but from my first day back I felt totally at ease with her. So it didn't seem odd that she was there to greet me at the train and not my dad. Even her furtive glances at her watch didn't clue me in until she stopped in front of my apartment door and whispered "Sorry."  
  
The explosive "Surprise!" that waited behind the door made me stagger backwards and glare at her accusingly, "You." I didn't get a chance to finish.  
  
She giggled and grabbed my hand and led me inside. "Here he is – our own MVP – Tony Micelli!" Then my Dad and Mrs. Rossini and just about everybody I knew from the neighborhood pulled me in to congratulate the local boy made good. The team I'd been playing for, as crappy as it was, had named me MVP and asked me to come back for a second year. More importantly, I'd heard some rumblings that a farm team or the triple A's was looking at me. But I hadn't told anybody except my Dad... and Marie. She'd schemed and planned the whole thing. Glancing across the room at her, I couldn't help but smile. No doubt about it, she was something.  
  
I saw her every day for the next six months, which pretty much made up for spending most of my time wrist deep in fish. Just being able to see her smile made the rest of the day disappear. I would've done anything to make her happy. I even put up with the guys calling me Bubbles on account of all the baths I took, because I couldn't stand the thought of taking her out smelling like I'd been swimming in the Hudson River. She didn't care though. That's what got me. I could smell like fish, spend a wild night on the town with the guys, or take her out bowling on a date and it didn't matter to her because I was 'her' Tony. Well, maybe it helped that I was a ball player and wouldn't be wrapping fish for the rest of my life, but who could blame her? I didn't want that for the rest of my life either.  
  
Not that it was all a bed of roses. She worked a lot, at a job that was supposed to be part time. I couldn't exactly fault her for it though, because I was working just as much. What was she supposed to do with her day? Wait around for me to come by? I look back now and shake my head at how little I knew. Still, it bothered me then, and caused us a couple of fights until she assured me that it was only something she was interested in doing until she got married. Okay, I thought, I could live with that.  
  
Her dad hated me. Nick thought my plans for the future were pipe dreams and didn't want his little girl tied up with someone who wasn't going anywhere except in a fish truck. What got me was how poorly he did for Marie and her mother. Somehow driving a fish truck seemed a whole lot better than running two-bit scams and playing the ponies. I hated to see the sadness in Marie's eyes every time it caught up with him. I wanted to protect her from it, wanted to protect her from him in much the same way as he wanted to protect her from me. She loved him to death though, so what could I do except smile at his insults? The fighter in me hated it, but love does funny things to you. And I was definitely falling in love, head over heels and the whole bit.  
  
Almost without knowing it, the time flew by and suddenly instead of months to spend with Marie, I had only days. The thought took me by surprise and left me feeling lost. How could I go away and leave again when things were so good between us? I wanted to play ball, no question, but somehow the distance seemed even greater than it did the year before. And I had a sneaking doubt that if I left her behind that I'd lose her forever, and forever seemed an awfully long time without her. I had a week before I had to leave, one week left to find a solution to the doubts filling my head. I could quit ball. No, I couldn't quit ball; I loved it too much. Besides, it was the only thing I ever did well. I wasn't cut out to go to college (even if I could've afforded it) and the only other things I knew how to do were gut fish and deliver pizzas. Not exactly something to make a career out of. I thought that maybe Marie could just come and live with me, but crossed that idea off immediately. She wasn't the sort of girl you could just shack up with. I just didn't know what to do.  
  
Then late one night as I walked her up to her apartment, it came to me in a flash. I grabbed her hands and pulled her towards me. "I've got it!"  
  
She looked worried. "You've got what Tony? You've been actin' so strange."  
  
Impatiently, I interrupted her, "Yeah, I know and I'm sorry for that. But. Marry me?"  
  
"What? Tony what're you talkin' about? Marry you? Where's this comin' from?"  
  
Looking into her eyes I could see that I'd managed to completely confuse her, so I started from the beginning. "Marie, listen. For the past day, week, or whatever, I've been tryin' to figure out how to play ball and still be near you. The team's not gonna trade me. Not yet anyway. And I don't wanna quit 'cause things are really startin' to roll for me. But I don't wanna leave you either. I. I love you Marie, and I want you in my life. For keeps, for ever. So, what do you say? Will you marry me?"  
  
A smile had been spreading slowly across her face as I talked and when I finally finished, she jumped into my arms and yelled up at her window, "Hey Ma, hey Pa! I'm marrying Tony!"  
  
Hardly believing, I asked, "Yes?"  
  
She looked down into my eyes and very seriously answered, "Yeah." Her hand grazed my cheek and she leaned in and kissed me softly. She pulled back with her arms still wrapped around me and studied my face. "I love you Tony Micelli. Lots." Then she kissed me again before her parents came racing out the door, ready to talk us out of our insanity.


	5. Family

_A/N #2: Edited to remove pathetic whining from the author's note... Sorry about that! ;)   
__But the thanks to the people who've reviewed still applies.  
  
Disclaimer: Dis - claim. Get it? Good!_

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_5..._  
  
The sight of Marie's parents stumbling outside as I held her in my arms is something that's forever burned in my mind. Her mother looked like she was auditioning for a fright show with her face slathered in cold cream and curlers sticking out at odd angles. The vibrant coat she'd thrown on over her shoulders really completed the look. Nick with his satin kimono wasn't much of an improvement. They came toward us talking a mile a minute, not understanding that we were serious.  
  
I let Marie down to her feet and she stood beside me, one arm wrapped around my waist, as she explained to her parents that not only was she marrying me, but she planned to do it as soon as possible. I think the surprise must of showed on my face because she turned to me and grinned, "Well Tony, if we're gonna get married, and you're leavin' to play ball next week, we gotta get moving. A day or two max and then we can be together. Sound good to you?"  
  
Still amazed that she'd even said yes, I smiled and nodded in return. "Sounds wonderful." She looked so beautiful standing there with her hair glinting in the lamplight; it took me a moment before I realized I'd missed something in my hasty proposal. Hesitating only a little, I turned back to her parents. "Um, Nick, uh, sir. I know it's a little late, but I've gotta ask you this, 'cause it only seems right. I love your daughter, and I wanna take care of her. If you could maybe find it in your heart, could I have your daughter's hand in marriage?"  
  
Nick regarded me silently, sizing me up. With a firm voice, he looked me straight in the eye and replied, "No."  
  
Marie and her mother erupted into cries of disbelief and dismay. I stared straight back at him, my fingers straining to form into a fist. Carefully choosing my words, I began, "Eh oh. With all due respect, SIR, I don't think...."  
  
It was at this point that Marie jumped in front of me, placing one hand on my wrist and the other on her father's chest. "Papa, don't."  
  
"Don't what Bambina? Tony asked me a question an' I gave him a answer."  
  
Marie gave him a look. "Don't you ruin this for me! Papa, I love Tony. I love him and I wanna marry him, no matter what you say. But Papa please, don't be this way, because I love you too and I don't wanna be mad at you."  
  
Nick took one look at the glistening tears in her deep brown eyes and crumbled. He sighed heavily and looked down at the ground. "Okay Bambina. You can marry Tony."  
  
"Oh Papa!" She flew into his arms.  
  
Still wrapped in her embrace, he looked up at me and said warningly, "If you don't treat her right...."  
  
I put up my hands in defense. "I will, I promise."  
  
Nick nodded once more and then clung just a bit tighter to Marie, as if letting go would be saying goodbye.

* * *

My father took the news much better than Marie's parents. I came creeping in the door late that night half hoping he was sleeping and half hoping he'd wake up. He was still passed out in the easy chair, snoring happily to the white fuzz dancing across the TV screen. He was just 44 years old, but a hard life filled with hard work had aged his features. He'd been driving the same garbage route for 20 years and I figured that he'd still be driving it for 20 more in spite of the graying hair and deep lines running across his face. He was proud of that garbage truck, proud of the life he had built, but even so, he wanted more for me. He saw in me all the possibilities he never had, and in a way, his dreams became mine. As a kid, I worshipped the ground he walked on. It was him that taught me the secret to a perfect red sauce and curve ball and he never steered me wrong when it came to understanding a girl. And though he occasionally got serious with some of the ladies in the neighborhood, I never doubted that my mother had been the love of his life. She was the only woman he would've chosen to share his life with.  
  
So this night, instead of quietly sneaking off to my bed, I turned off the TV and sat down beside him. Shaking him lightly on the arm, I called, "Pop. Hey Dad, wake up!"  
  
The steady stream of snoring stopped abruptly and he snorted awake. "Wha...what's...Tony?" He struggled to gain consciousness.  
  
"Hey Pop, I've got news."  
  
He shook himself awake. "Tony? What time is it? What?"  
  
I grinned. "I'm marrying Marie."  
  
He was suddenly very much awake.  
  
"I didn't know what to do about going to play ball and leavin' her, and then it came to me, I wanted to marry her. So I asked her and she said yes."  
  
My dad's eyes twinkled, "Her father, he's going to love this."  
  
"No. No, he's okay. He knows. I mean, he wasn't exactly thrilled, but..."  
  
"I can't believe it!"  
  
"Well, you know Nick...."  
  
"Nah." He broke me off with a shake of his head. "My boy, he's playing in the minor leagues and he's marrying the prettiest girl on the block. I was proud before, but now I'm even prouder." He tossed his arm around my shoulder and hugged me tightly.  
  
"So you're happy?"  
  
"Tony, Tony. You're so happy, I'm happy. And Marie, she'll be good for you."  
  
You want to know the funny thing about my Dad? No matter how much I doubted it growing up, he was almost always right. 


	6. Buttons & Tin Cans

_Disclaimer: Do I really need to disclaim anymore? We all know WTB? isn't mine, right? Got it? Good._

_On with the story..._

* * *

_6..._  
  
Tony was beginning to remember why he'd been so reluctant to take this trip down memory lane. It wasn't the remembering so much as the emotions that were brought up. Somehow, even the happiest of memories were laced with bittersweet. It made him question himself, who he was then and who he had become. When he'd asked Marie to marry him it had been an impulse. Yet it had taken him years to ask the same question of Angela. He'd even counseled her on the subject once. What was it that he'd said? '_You don't think these things, you feel them_.' And she had told him that love sometimes wasn't enough. At the time he thought she just didn't get it, but looking back, maybe he was the one who didn't get it. And maybe living with Angela all these years had changed him. The idea frightened him a little, but it also made perfect sense. Loving someone inevitably meant change. 

  
  
They say every little girl dreams of the perfect wedding. Well, little boys may not plan it out in detail or spend hours obsessing over it, but they think about it too. Okay, maybe not little boys, because to them girls are gross, but when you get older and fall in love with someone you want to give them the world, a perfect wedding included. I wanted Marie and me to have a day full of friends and family, love, God, and a beautiful start to our life together. I wanted us to have the church wedding with all the trimmings, and a huge celebration after. What we got was an appointment with a judge and big dinner back at her parent's place.  
  
I was so excited, so nervous, standing up with Marie in front of the judge in my rented suit. I tried to ignore the bored tone in the official's voice as he emotionlessly read through the ceremony. It was all I could do not to pull him aside and make him put a little effort into his job, maybe be happy about what he was doing for us. But then, all I had to do was look into Marie's eyes to realize it just didn't matter. I was marrying the woman I loved, who cared if the judge was interested or not? She was something beautiful that day, her long hair curling down her back, and the borrowed white dress she wore practically gleaming. My heart almost stopped when I first caught sight of her standing on the courthouse steps. This was the girl I was gonna spend my life with.  
  
Dinner was awkward and tense. Our father's had never thought much of each other, and Marie's mother just couldn't understand why I'd invited the Rossini's to a 'family' supper. Marie took it all in stride, but still I wished I could've given her something more.  
  
I kept this thought to myself though; figuring a complaint would surely make things worse. But when we piled into the van, all it took was a loose button on my suit and the weight of the day came crashing down around me. I slammed my fists down on the steering wheel and apologized for the judge and the dinner, the lack of time and money to do things right, and mostly for that stupid button. That damned button. To me it symbolized everything that had gone wrong; to Marie, it symbolized everything that was right. She took it from me and taped it to the visor of the van with a smile.  
  
"Tony," she told me, "it doesn't matter if it wasn't perfect. Life isn't perfect, but we've got each other and we're married, and that's what today was about. Not churches, dinners, or buttons." She laughed then; that same sweet giggle that first drew me in, "I'm Mrs. Micelli now! There's no stopping us! We've got a lifetime ahead of us, you and me. A nice wedding would've been...nice, but it's only a day in a lifetime. And." She nuzzled up to me suggestively, "I can think of a few ways to make this day a whole lot better." So, we drove off into the night, the rattle of tin cans behind us and the future wide open ahead of us.


	7. Baby Blue

_Disclaimer: See Chapter 1 (or any other chapter for that matter.)_

_A/N: The author loves reviews, I mean, really, really likes them. However, in a massive effort of self restraint, she is trying to refrain from begging & pleading for them. Do you like the story? Do you hate it? Are you feeling particularily ambivalent towards it? Let me...er...the author know how you feel. Please? (Uh-oh, there she goes again....) ;)_

* * *

_7..._  
  
Time always marches on. Tony sighed and stretched, trying to determine which box to tackle next. He wondered when he'd first developed that low ache in his back, the dull pain that came from sitting too long in one place. He hated to think that he was entering the famed 'middle-aged' years of his life, but his body told him it was the truth. He who was once an athlete in his prime, now reduced to...this. Shaking his head and reaching to turn on another overhead light, he knew he was being silly. He was still very much in shape, in some ways more than he'd been at 20. Maybe it was just knowing how much time had passed, how much had happened, that made him feel old. Twenty years, a lifetime ago. Yet, it didn't seem that way, sitting there surrounded by the relics of his life. Today, the colors, the scents, the images, all seemed as vibrant as they had so long ago.  
  
Only a few more boxes left. Each filled with memories, the good ones, the bad ones, the pinnacles, and the heartbreaks. A grin widened across his face as he reached for the nearest box and read the label. Sam. He opened it up and brushed his hand lightly over the soft blue blanket Marie had knit for her. Blue, because up until the moment he'd first held her in his arms, he'd been convinced that she was going to be a boy. From that moment on though, he never wished for anything more that what he had. His perfect baby girl: who wasn't anywhere close to being a baby anymore and not even so much a girl. She was an adult, a wife, and a college student, but still, deep down in his heart she'd always be his little girl.  
  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
  
What a summer we had. I was on top of the world with Marie at my side. I was at the top of my game, and flying high. It was something else to stand out there on the field and know that my wife my wife! was up in the stands watching me play. It wasn't an easy summer for either of us though. It's hard to suddenly become two after being one for so long. I wasn't used to having to think about someone else all the time, and she wasn't used to being alone so much of the time. I mean, between the practices, the games, the away games, and the occasional night out with the boys, Marie and me didn't spend an awful lot of time together. And she missed our life in Brooklyn: the family, the neighbors, and the constant supply of noise to lull her to sleep at night. But we had each other, and when we were together we made the most of every moment.  
  
We came home to a cold and dreary November and packed ourselves into the cozy one bedroom my dad found us, not too far from the street where I grew up. It wasn't much, two rooms with a bare-bones kitchen off to one side and a child-sized bath, but it was home. Living in close quarters, you learn a lot about a person: their likes and dislikes, when to push and when to give some room, and the surefire ways to bring a smile to their face. I took what jobs I could get and Marie was in her glory making our place a home. It was a good life, more than I ever expected to have, and the icing on the cake was the day Marie told me we were going to have a baby. This was the dream we shared; three, maybe four kids to share our lives with while I made my fortune playing baseball and Marie took care of us all. See, the thing was, both me and Marie grew up without brothers and sisters, and the idea of a big, bustling family was the one thing we'd always wanted. I spent a lot of time as a kid imagining how great it'd be to have a brother, someone to show me the ropes or maybe for me to show the ropes to. This baby, this wonderful, thrilling piece of us, was the start to the family we so wanted.  
  
Having a baby seemed to me the most amazing thing. Well, apart from the cramps and nausea and the countless other things that plagued Marie through her pregnancy. But really, to look and her and know that she was carrying another life inside of her, it was...indescribable. And of course, I had a thousand questions about it that she never seemed able to answer. It was like she belonged to something I could never be a part of. I envied her that connection to our child. She was a first-hand observer; I was just a bystander. But I discovered something about myself during this time; I liked looking after her. It made me feel like someone better than myself, someone worthy of all the breaks I'd gotten. And I swore that when I finally got a chance to meet our kid, I'd be just as much a part of their life as Marie.  
  
Another summer passed, this time playing in a league closer to home. Though it wasn't exactly the step I'd been hoping for career-wise, it was probably a good thing for me. Marie could stay in our apartment in the city, and I could maybe prove myself to the scouts that were starting to nose around. There'd been some doubt about my ability to play because while I'd been a star player on my old team, the team wasn't exactly star- quality to begin with. It took a lot of work, a lot of practice, and a lot of missed time with Marie, but I was making a name for myself as a dedicated player and sportsman. In fact, I only ever missed one game. Sure, it was the last big game of the season, but I had an awful good excuse.  
  
Her name was Samantha. 


	8. Hello

_Disclaimer: yada, yada, yada...._

* * *

_8..._  
  
The waiting was worse than anything. It'd been hours since Marie had first woken up in the middle of the night feeling 'uncomfortable'. But that was nothing new, because for the last month or so there'd been lots of nights where she couldn't sleep because kiddo wasn't being cooperative, or her back was aching, or her mind was racing with worry over the changes that were coming. Except this night, she never did fall back asleep and the uncomfortable feeling quickly elevated into pain. 'Oh man,' I thought. 'This is it. Baby time.' Then we were at the hospital and an overzealous nurse was wheeling Marie away from me while I was pushed into a chair with a bunch of forms and told to simply wait. Wait? My wife was in pain and she was having our baby, and all I was supposed to do was wait? Not bloody likely.  
  
It was probably a good thing my dad showed up right then, followed closely by Marie's mom and dad. At least they kept me distracted. Sure, the fact that Nick was practically following in my steps pacing across the room made me want to strangle him, but it helped knowing I wasn't in this waiting thing alone. I wanted to be in that room with Marie almost as much as I was glad I wasn't. I wanted to be a part of my kid's birth and I really wanted to be there for Marie if she needed me, but I wasn't sure if I could handle her being in pain. The trip from our apartment alone had been gut-wrenching enough, but this... I think women are a lot tougher than men, in some ways at least, or maybe in all ways. Marie was definitely stronger than me.  
  
So we waited and paced the hours away until finally the door pushed open and a doctor in a spotless white coat stepped into the room. "Mr. Micelli?" he asked, studying the faces in the room until his gaze came to rest on me.  
  
I swallowed and stepped towards him. "Yeah?"  
  
"Congratulations! You're a Dad!"  
  
Amid the sudden clamor of the room, I stepped closer to the doctor "I'm a.... You mean she... Really?" My thoughts were jumbled and although this was the news I'd been waiting to hear all day, I couldn't get my head around the idea that I, Tony Micelli, was a father.  
  
"Mother and daughter are doing well. You can go in and see them in a bit if you want." He'd obviously seen lots of fathers like me before.  
  
I grabbed the person standing next to me and danced them across the room, jumping back quickly when I looked up and realized my dance partner was Nick. That's when what the doctor said hit me. "Daughter? Did you say _Mother and Daughter_?"  
  
Barely holding back the laugh that had formed during my impromptu dance, the doctor nodded. "I did. You've got 7lbs 6oz of a beautiful baby girl.  
  
"A girl? Un huh, you've got it wrong. Marie and me, we're having a boy."  
  
The doctor just smiled and replied, "Well, I'm 99.9% sure I'm right, but why don't you come with me and decide for yourself."  
  
"You mean I can see him?"  
  
"Her, but yeah, this way." He opened the door and gestured into the hall.  
  
She was beautiful. There are no words to describe what I felt when I first saw my baby girl. There was row upon row of red-faced and crying newborns, but the only one that mattered, the only one I had eyes for was my girl. All I needed was one look and the boy I'd been hoping for vanished. Goodbye Sammy, hello Samantha.  
  
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
  
I'd never seen Marie look so pale before, so tired and worn. I cautiously made my way over to her bedside and picked up her hand. She stirred and then blinked awake. "Tony?"  
  
"Yeah Babe, I'm here." I squeezed her hand a little tighter and settled into the chair beside her. She looked up at me with a warm glow in her eyes. "You've seen her?"  
  
"She's perfect, just like you."  
  
She laughed softly. "So you're not mad she's not a he?" Her tone was teasing, but I could sense a hint of worry in there.  
  
"She's perfect." I said again, knowing it was the truth. "Who needs a boy when I've got my girls?"  
  
A contented sigh escaped from her as she snuggled back into the bed. I gently brushed a lock of hair off of her face. "You sleepy?"  
  
She nodded and idly played with my hand. "A little, it's been a day."  
  
"A good day."  
  
"The best." She stared up at me in silence, a sweet smile tracing her lips. I leaned in and kissed her.  
  
"I love ya, Marie."  
  
She pulled me closer and kissed me again before leaning back into the pillows. "Back at ya, Tony."


	9. Ring

9...  
  
_I'm standing at home plate, the bat at ready, trying to see through the glare of the bright sunshine to the pitcher's mound. I can almost hear the whir of the ball moving through the air as it races towards me. But then the bat vanishes from my hands and instead of hitting the ball I catch it, and instead of a ball it's a bundle of heavy blankets. I start running to first base and the ball is squirming in my hands, making it hard to hold on to. The roar of the crowd fills my ears and all I can do is run. I've passed third base and no one seems to be trying to tag me out, so I take a look down at the bundle in my arms and realize for the first time that it's not just a bundle, it's a baby. The baby opens its mouth and I brace myself for the scream I know is coming._ **Ring.** _What? I'm confused; the baby is ringing. Wait, that's not right, the baby isn't ringing..._  
  
**Ring.  
**  
I groaned and tried the pull the tangled blankets away from me. Why'd I let the guys drag me out last night?  
  
**Ring.**  
  
My head was pounding. Go away!

**Ring.**

The whole gang had shown up at the hospital just before visiting hours were over and insisted that we had to mark the occasion with a trip to Marty's. I laughed at the sight of them, a motley group with long hair and bell- bottoms, as they stood at the nursery window making googley eyes at the babies. Just one drink they said. Ha! With those guys, nothing was ever done halfways. We played hard and we worked hard, and somewhere in between we had a couple laughs. So, of course I went with them and of course one drink became four. But I figured if anything was worth celebrating, this was it.  
  
**Ring.**  
  
The phone. The phone was ringing. Must get to phone...  
  
**Ring.**  
  
"Hello?" This better be important.  
  
"Mr. Micelli?"  
  
"Speakin'," I grumbled.  
  
"Hi, Mr. Micelli. I'm calling from the hospital. It's about your wife."  
  
The words shot through me and within seconds I was completely awake. "Marie? She okay?"  
  
"Well, actually that's the reason I'm calling. She's experiencing some...difficulties and we need you down here to make some decisions." The girl on the other end of the line spoke nervously, as though she wasn't telling me everything and wanted to.  
  
"Difficulties? What difficulties? She was fine when I left her."  
  
"There's been some complications. Look, Mr. Micelli, I'd rather not go into details on the phone. The doctor can explain things much better to you in person. Just come, please."  
  
"Yeah. I'm there. Just...take care of her, okay?" Not waiting to hear her answer, I grabbed a pair of sweats and my keys, and raced out the door with a sick feeling rolling in the pit of my stomach.

* * *

The doctor spoke to me and it was just a jumble of words. Hemorrhaging, loss of blood, at risk...surgery. This wasn't supposed to be happening. Not to Marie. Not to us.  
  
"Do you understand me, Mr. Micelli?"  
  
I blinked, "What?"  
  
"The medication doesn't seem to be working. So the next viable option is surgery, which holds some risks in itself." He was speaking slowly, trying to break through the wall of shock that had formed around me.  
  
My throat felt tight. "And if she doesn't have the surgery?"  
  
The doctor wouldn't quite meet my eyes. "Well, there's no guarantees, but..."  
  
I nodded and felt my body slump with the weight of the decision. Finally, I took a deep breath and replied, "Okay, I get it. Do what you need to do to make her better."  
  
"And you understand, with this surgery, you won't be able to have any more children."  
  
My head shot up and my breath seemed to catch in my throat. Our dream, our family... Trying to keep it together, I looked the doctor straight in the eye. "Without her, there's nothing." He broke away from my gaze then, and swallowed. "Doc," I said, "Take care of her."  
  
Solemnly, he nodded. "I will. I promise."

* * *

If there was ever a place I didn't want to be, it was in a hospital waiting room while my wife lay on some cold and sterile operating table. I wanted to be home in bed, the weight of Marie's forehead pressing against my chest as the hours to morning slipped away. I wanted to be out with the guys, the rush of fresh air and freedom in my lungs as we roamed the Brooklyn nightlife. I wanted to be a child again, just for a moment, safe and protected, ignorant of all the sorrows life had in store. I would've given anything to change places with her. I would've given anything to spare her from pain...  
  
I couldn't bring myself to call anyone. The worry, the fear, the waiting, it seemed too cruel of a thing to inflict on anyone just yet. So somehow I found myself back at the nursery, drinking in the sight of my precious baby girl, desperate to convince myself that everything was going to be fine. I guess someone there must've known what was going on, because I felt a hand on my shoulder and a nurse led me inside. They sat me down, placed Samantha in my arms, and told me they'd let me know when they heard anything about Marie.  
  
My hands felt so large, so big and clumsy cradling this tiny bundle of life. I brought her close, breathing in her newness, and nuzzled the fuzzy down of her head. She opened her eyes then and stretched and yawned but she didn't cry. She just stared up at me with those dark eyes, looking more calm and serene than any newborn had a right to. Then it hit me. Suddenly I knew deep down in my gut, that things were gonna be okay.

* * *

And mostly, I was right. The months that followed weren't easy. We were still so young and the stresses of a new baby and all the changes sometimes seemed too big to manage. We made it through, though to this day I still sometimes wonder how we managed it. It wasn't like we had much choice. We survived because we had to. We survived because life has a funny way of just rolling on. And mainly we survived because having Sam made it all worthwhile. As for everything else, well... Eventually you learn you can't control everything and you learn how to adjust your dreams to more realistic goals. You learn to be happy. We were happy. We had so much.


	10. Circle Game

_Disclaimer: My name, "Who's The Boss?", "The Circle Game": One of these things belongs to me - Guess which one!_

* * *

__

_10..._

It was at the bottom of the second to last box that he found the records. Tony slipped the vinyl out of the thin wrapper and laughed at his discovery. Joni Mitchell, Peter, Paul & Mary, Jimi Hendrix... If there was ever anything he and Marie had disagreed on, it was music. He was a friend of the classics – the crooners and the doo-woppers; she sampled everything in between rock and folk music, listening to whatever suited her mood at the time. Somehow, they'd never been able to reach a compromise. He hated her music and she was reduced to yawns at his.

_Yesterday a child came out to wonder  
__Caught a dragonfly inside a jar  
__Fearful when the sky was full of thunder  
__And tearful at the falling star..._

__

__

The record skipped and hissed as the needle passed over a scratch. Tony settled down amidst the boxes and let the words and notes wash over him, releasing another flood of memories. It was like one of those old home movies, oddly colored and full of jumps from one scene to the next. For a moment he sees baby Samantha hanging out in the dresser drawer they had fashioned for a crib. She was so tiny and perfect, despite of the long nights of impatient crying and diaper changes. Then suddenly she's two, laughing and running around the ball diamond while he and Marie walk behind holding hands, talking and dreaming about what the future has in store.

..._Words like, when you're older, must appease him  
__And promises of someday make his dreams..._

__

He sees Marie the mother, carefully bandaging and kissing scraped knees. He sees her hands on her hips as she looks at them both reproachfully after they've messed up her carefully cleaned kitchen trying to bake her a cake. He sees Samantha's laughing face as her holds her high in the air above him; the look of tenderness and joy in Marie's eyes as she watches the homecoming scene. The good years, the golden years, where all he had ever dreamed was coming true.

_...And the seasons they go round and round  
__And the painted ponies go up and down  
__We're captive on the carousel of time  
__We can't return we can only look behind  
__From where we came  
__And go round and round and round  
__In the circle game..._

__

__

"Please Mommy? Please?" Samantha's dark brown eyes looked up pleadingly at her mother.

"Yeah Mommy, please?" I added jokingly, pulling Sam into my lap.

She tried to hold the stern look on her face, but began to crumble at the sight of the two of us staring up at her with identical expressions. I could see the smile threatening to break through and grinned. "She's gonna give in," I whispered to Sam.

"I'm not Micelli! I said no playing ball inside an' I meant it." Even as she spoke the dimple in her right cheek began to show.

"Please Mommy? I'm careful."

"Please Mommy? It's a foam ball and bat. We won't do any damage, honest! I'll put away anythin' that's breakable."

"Tony!"

"What? She wants to play ball."

"It's January and she's four. You want to play ball."

"Yeah, but she's my girl! Come on, just this once?" I flashed her my most winning smile.

She sighed and shook her head at us. There was no saying no to our father/daughter tag team. "All right! Go on! Just don't break anything!"

I grabbed Sam and tossed her on my shoulders. "See? Told ya so!" I crowed to my little girl. Catching Marie as she turned on her heel toward the kitchen, I pulled her closer. "Love ya." She tried to wiggle out of my grasp, but I only held on tighter, pressing a playful kiss against her cheek.

"You..." She moved her head to face me better and I caught her lips with mine.

"Daddy!" Whined Sam impatiently, breaking up the moment.

Marie swatted me playfully with the dishcloth and headed for the kitchen. "No breakage!" she called over her shoulder with a grin.

_...And they tell him,  
__Take your time; it won't be long now,  
__Till you drag your feet to slow the circles down  
__And the seasons they go round and round..._

_  
  
_"The game's tied at 2-2 and Micelli's up at bat. Micelli Sr. takes the ball and throws, Micelli Jr. hits it, and it's a home run! I picked up Sam and ran her around the 'bases' of the living room, our voices drowning out the sound of the phone ringing in the other room.

"Wheee!" screamed Samantha.

"Wheee!" I cheered in response, collapsing us both down on the couch.

"Tony!" Marie called from the kitchen.

"Uh-oh!" I whispered to Sam, causing her to break out in giggles.

Marie appeared in the doorway, hand covering the mouthpiece of the phone and motioned to me impatiently. "Tony."

"What? We'll be quiet."

"No. Tony, the phone's for you. It sounds important."

"Oh yeah? What? Philly got a new girlfriend or somethin'?"

She shook her head forcefully and held out the phone.

"Okay, okay. I'm comin'." I rolled over and placed Sam down gently on the floor. Giving Marie a puzzled look, I took the phone from her. "Tony here."

I thought at first it must be a joke. No way was this happening. One of the guys was playing a prank, right? I looked at Marie and saw that she was dead serious, with a large dose of excitement hiding behind those deep, dark eyes. The GM of the St. Louis Cardinals was calling me. Me. Tony Micelli. And he was offering me a job. Playing ball. Playing second base. With the Card's. Not happening. No, not a chance.

But it was.

_...So the years spin by and now the boy is twenty  
__Though his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true  
__There'll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty  
__Before the last revolving years is through.  
__And the seasons they go round and round  
__And the painted ponies go up and down  
__We're captive on the carousel of time  
__We can't return we can only look behind  
__From where we came  
__And go round and round and round  
__In the circle game_

The Circle Game – Joni Mitchell


	11. Out!

_Disclaimer: See Ch. 1_

_A/N: We're starting to head into darker waters. Sorry about that, but it was kind of inevitable..._

* * *

_11..._

The notes of the song faded away and all that was left was silence and the falling darkness outside the window. Silence and darkness. He'd been avoiding them for years. It was easier to keep moving, to keep talking, and ignore the past. Sure, the good memories surfaced. He'd take them out and relive them for the kids, for Angela, for Mona. There was always a message in there, something someone could learn from. He had a million stories to tell, and though the kids would groan and say they'd heard it all before, they'd still listen. But there were things he never told. Things that he didn't think about didn't want to be a part of him. It was silly though, because every bit of his past was a part of him: the good, the bad, the ugly, and the really ugly. Would anyone think less of him if they knew? Samantha knew some of it. He'd alluded to it with Angela and with Mona. No one knew the whole story.

* * *

The golden years. It's funny that I think of them like that. It seems impossible that a dream you've held on to for your whole life can come true with one phone call. I know I worked hard to make it happen, and I know it didn't just come to me overnight. I wasn't playing the lottery, although luck was involved. But really, that one phone call changed everything.

In my dreams at night, I often come back to the day I played my first game in the majors. It was one of those life-defining moments. Everything about that day stands out to me, bright and clear. The low hum of chatter and motion rippling through the stadium. The damp, earthy moisture of the air as I walked from the dugout to home plate. I remember breathing deeply, trying to control the nervousness, the surge of adrenaline flowing through me. I tried to focus on the cool metal of the bat in my hand, the instructions from the coach, and the way the pitcher stood with his hands gripped tightly around the ball. I prayed that I wouldn't mess this up. All I wanted was a clean hit, good enough to get me on base. Good enough that I wouldn't be disappointing all the people who'd had faith in me. People like the ones in section J-59. My dad, Marie, Samantha...

What a rush it was to have my family there with me. My dad had spent two days driving up from the city, just for me. He may have been a Met's fan his whole life, but on this day no one cheered louder for the Card's than him. It was such a high point for him, seeing his kid playing in the game he loved. There were other high points later on, like the time we played in New York and he bought out an entire section just so everyone in the neighborhood could see how good I'd done for myself. How good he'd done for me. This day though, this day was one for the record books.

Marie and Sam had stayed in Saint Louis with me for spring training, keeping me sane through the endless practices and training sessions. But now that the regular season had begun, they were heading home with my dad. Back to our friends and apartment, back to the life they lived without me. We told ourselves it was for the best. It wasn't as if I'd be around much if they stayed with me, so better to be in a place with people to support them. We'd made the decision together, but already I could feel the loneliness creeping up on me, even before they'd gone.

I watched the ball spiral through the air towards me. There'd been two balls, a foul, and a strike already, but this time, this time I knew that the ball and the bat would connect. I swung smoothly and felt the ping of contact shoot through the bat. The ball flew into the air and the only thought in my head was to move. So I ran, energy pumping through my muscles, propelling me forward. First base. I'd made it. I was safe.

Two players later, we had our third out and I was only standing on second, but it didn't matter. I'd got on base. This was it; I was a pro ball player.

After the game and celebration, after my dad's vivid retelling of the whole event, and after the lingering goodbyes, I watched my family pile into the car and leave. The silence and darkness threatened me then. I was alone. Left to an empty apartment, left to the temptations of the road. See, I've never been good with flying solo. I've always, always, had someone to turn to, to make me laugh, or distract me when the loneliness set in. But this was different. There were so many girls, so young and vibrant, along the way, and I was ambitious, I was reckless, I was young, and I was Italian. It would've been so easy to give in. I almost did. But I stopped it. I closed my eyes and pictured my girls and I knew I couldn't give them up. Not for anything.

I think Marie sensed my struggle, though she tried not to hold it against me. I hope she never doubted my love for her. I don't know. It was just another thing we never talked about. We should have, I know that now, but back then it was easier not to speak, to give voice to our doubts. I was away too much and we grew apart, although we still loved each other a lot. But things in life change, relationships change. So much of our lives were spent away from each other while I was chasing my dream and she was raising our daughter. How can that not affect a relationship?

* * *

I played ball with the Cards for two and a half seasons. I wanted more. I wanted to make a  
big enough name for myself that the Met's would see me and hire me. Maybe then I could be at home more and things would be better for my family. And I could be the toast of Brooklyn. And I could make enough money that we'd never want for anything. My dad could quit the garbage route and we could move out of our cramped apartment into a house. Things would be perfect then.

My chance came one night in Minnesota. The game was tied 5-5 and we were in the last inning, two players left at bat. If I could make it to third and then home on the last hit, we could win and be in the finals. I would win the game for the team. The hit was short, little more than a bunt and I knew I wouldn't have much of a chance, but Coach waved me on. So I ran, already sensing the ball flying through the air behind me, and I knew without seeing that I didn't have the time, so I made a desperate lunge for the base. I felt the heavy impact of my body as it hit the ground hard. A searing pain shot through me and the air rushed out of my lungs. Everything stopped then. Everything. I could see mouths moving, people running, but there was no sound. I looked up and saw the base lying two inches out of my reach. I had failed. Then it all came back. In an instant, the rush of noise assaulted my ears and the pain began again. Faintly, above the clamor, I heard someone say, "You're out." So much for Micelli's big save.

Later on, I woke up in a hospital, still foggy from the painkillers. There were doctors and nurses moving in and out of the room, not really paying attention to me. I wanted answers. I could feel the pain radiating out of my shoulder and I wanted to know what it meant. The doctors and the physiotherapists, they talked a lot. They told me a lot of things, but the one thing they couldn't tell me was that I'd be back out on the field again. Instead, words like surgery and anaesthetic and physio were thrown around.

That's not to say that they didn't try to give me hope. They told me that with time and hard work, I might regain full use of my arm. There's always a chance they told me. So I pushed myself every day to get up and work through the pain. And I made leaps and bounds and I held on to that last shred of hope. But months passed and I still felt the twinge, the ache in my shoulder, as I tried to throw a ball, and I knew. I knew, but I wouldn't admit it. I mean, it couldn't all be over just like that, could it? 


	12. Half

_Disclaimer: You know the drill._

_A/N: Here's a longer chapter to tide you through until I get around to actually finishing this fic. Which is something I plan to do...eventually. ;) Feedback is always appreciated & enjoyed (& may actually prompt me to get cracking on this - Gotta love blackmail.) Till next time - cheers!_

* * *

__

_12..._

Half full. That's the way I've always seen the glass. That's the way I've lived my life. You chase after your dreams, you work hard, and then maybe someday...

_It'll all come crashing to the floor._

I sat in the murky depths of Marty's Melody Room, staring at my beer mug and wondering about whether the glass was half of anything. Did thinking about it influence the question? Were you supposed to just go with your gut? My gut was telling me to gulp down what was left of my beer and order another one. Nobody cared how I saw the glass. This was a bar, not some shrink's office.

Marty's. How many times had I found myself strutting through the door, or stumbling out of it the wee hours of the morning? Probably more times than was worth counting, even before I was legal. This is where the gang came to celebrate life's big moments or drown our sorrows in the losses. So, here I was again. Same old stool, same old friends - minus the same old Tony. Me and him weren't on speaking terms anymore. He was the clown who thought diving into third would be his big break. So much for dreams and ambition.

Out of the fog clouding my head, I heard Philly come up from behind and slap me on the back. "Yo Tone, the guys and I are headin' out. You wanna come?"

I shook my head and glanced up at him briefly before returning to my contemplation of the beer mug. Half full or half... "Nah. I'm gonna hang around here for a while."

"Aw, come on Tone. You're no fun anymore. All you do is sit around and mope. Come with us, it'll be a blast."

Faintly over the din of the jukebox, I heard one of the guys yell, "Hey Philly, you goin' or what?"

"Keep your panties on! I'm tryin' to get Tony to come!"

"Leave him! He's not gonna come, he never does."

Philly shook his head and turned back to me, but I stopped him before he could say any more. "Go Philly." I ordered, "You heard the guy, I'm not comin'."

He stared at me a moment then sighed and slid into the chair beside me. Leaning forward so I could hear him over the racket, he began, "Hey Tone, I know you're disappointed 'cause of your shoulder and the majors, but god man, it's been months. Oh boo-hoo, you're not a big fancy athlete anymore. Big deal. You can't keep doin' this. You're depressin' me."

Anger surged through me and I briefly thought about how good it would feel to knock him out. Then I realized that this was Philly; the guy who'd practically been my best friend since junior high. Sure, sometimes he deserved a bit of knocking around, but right now; well it wouldn't be a good scene. Standing up abruptly, I made to leave, muttering, "I'm outta here."

"But Tone..."

"Eh oh Philly. If I'm bringin' you down, why don't you leave me alone? I don't want your pity. An' I don't need you to talk some sense into me! I don't need this!"

"You're my pal, Tone. I don't wanna..."

"Just lemme go, okay! Didn't you hear me? I tried to say it nice, but now I'll say it slow. Get lost!" He put an arm out to stop me, but I shrugged him off, escaping into the silence of the night.

* * *

It was late before I finally dragged myself in the door. I'd been wandering for hours, trying to get a grip on things, but all I'd managed to do was to fall deeper into regrets, deeper into the blackness that was holding me. I'd been someone for a while, and now I was just a nobody: a guy with a bum shoulder and a grade 12 education. That and a dollar would get me nowhere. Worse, everybody knew I'd screwed up. I felt like the biggest joke of Pitkin Avenue since Joey Bucco had married some girl for money and ended up being robbed blind faster than you can say annulment. I could just feel the pity radiating from the people who cared about me. I could see the shame in their eyes and I couldn't make it go away. Worse, I couldn't ignore it either. Maybe it'd be easier to avoid them all. If only they'd let me alone.

Marie was sitting at the kitchen table when I came in. It was still set for dinner, but dinnertime had long since passed. "Hey," I called, making my way across the room towards her. I bent to place kiss on her cheek, but she turned her head and began clearing away the dishes. "Marie..." I tried again, knowing she was mad, but not willing to see the reason why. She tossed some pots into the sink with a loud clang and then returned to the table for a second load. I picked up a plate to help her, but she avoided my hand, choosing instead to carry a large pot of pasta to the garbage. I watched her striding back and forth across the kitchen until finally I couldn't take it anymore and snapped, "What? What's with the silence? I told you I probably wasn't gonna be here for supper! I told you I was probably gonna go out with the guys! What's with you?"

Silently, deliberately, she set the dishes down and turned to face me, her hands gripping the counter for support. With eyes blazing, she began to speak. "The guys," she spat. "It's always the guys or somethin' Tony! What's with me? What's with you? You seem content bein' with anyone but your wife an' daughter, but hey, no big surprise there! You've never been around much before either!"

"Marie." 

"Oh, don't Marie me! You got hurt and you lost your job, temporarily. So what? It's only been a few months and you act like it's the end of the world. News flash Micelli, your world's not over, it's right here!" She punctuated her last statement with a stamp on the floor and then paused for a breath, her face flaming with anger.

"It's not temporary." I spoke quickly and softly, stuffing my hands into my pockets; hoping she wouldn't hear me. Saying it made it real.

Her mouth was open, ready to continue with her rant, but at my words, she stopped. She stared at me with a look somewhere between annoyance and confusion. "What?"

"I said I'm done with baseball." A moment passed while a grim smile appeared on my face. "Well, baseball's done with me. I got the official word today. I'm done."

When she didn't speak, I continued rambling on, hoping to fend off the rising wave of desperation that was threatening me. "See, the Doc says my shoulder's as healed as it's ever gonna be, but the team trainer's say it's not good enough. An' I could maybe try out for another team, but really, the word is out and nobody wants a baseman with a bum shoulder. So, I'm done." I looked down at the floor and sighed. There, I'd said it and the sky hadn't fallen in, but I felt about a hundred years older.

"Oh Tony..." Everything about her physically softened and she took a step toward me, but I turned away, absently rubbing the offending shoulder.

"So. Um. Huh. Where's Sam? She's not in bed yet, is she?"

Marie gave me a look and I knew that I wasn't going to be able to avoid this conversation. Still, she gave in a little and answered me. "She's spendin' the night at Mrs. Rossini's. I took her over a couple hours ago so we could talk." She paused and moved a bit closer, "Tony, I'm so...."

I slowly raised my eyes to hers, trying to hide the pain and shame that I'm sure was lurking there. "Don't." I warned.

She stood directly in front of me, blocking my path, and trying to meet gaze, "But...."

Carefully, I grabbed her arms and moved her out of my way.

"We gotta talk Tony!" she called to my retreating form.

I stopped and slowly turned around to face her. "'Bout what? I messed things up for us. You know it and I know it an' everybody in the neighborhood knows it. What's talkin' gonna do except remind me that I blew it and now the life we thought we were gonna have isn't gonna happen."

"That's not true! Tony, you wanna know what I feel? I feel sad 'cause my husband's hurtin' an' he won't let me help him. And I'm even madder 'cause he's bein' an obstinate jerk instead. Who the hell cares what the neighbor's think? What about what I think? But it doesn't count, does it? Not in Tony Micelli's world 'cause I'm just a wife and a mother and not anybody who's really important! Oh, you've got some ego on you Micelli! Do you think that I..." 

Her words were cut off by the slam of the door as I walked into the hall and out of the building. Running wasn't an answer, but I couldn't bring myself to hear what she had to say. I already knew I'd messed up bad. I was hurt, I was scared, and I didn't know where I was going, but it didn't matter. All I knew was that I couldn't stay where I was.

* * *

"Tony?" My father peered warily at me through the crack in the door, before stepping back and opening it wider.

"Hey Dad! Whatcha doin'?" I brushed past him and into the familiar apartment filled with the assorted bits and pieces of his life.

"Sleeping, Tony. You know it's after one in the morning? Why aren't you at home with your family, like a sane person?" He paused and then looked up at me with a worried frown. "They are okay?"

"Oh, they're fine. Better now." I wandered through the apartment, wondering how nothing in it had changed after all these years.

"Better now than what?"

"Better now they don't have me to drag them down. Hey Pop, you mind if I stay here a while?"

Slowly, he lowered himself down into his favorite easy chair and fixed me with a death glare. "Sit!"

Hastily, I sunk into the battered couch beside me and waited for him to speak. I'd never been one to defy my father outright and I wasn't about to start now.

"Anthony," he sighed, "What is happening with you?"

"Not much. I'm just changin' some things in my life." It was harder than I thought to play this cool, unaffected character.

"Like leaving your family? This isn't you." He knew me too well.

"Well, it's the new me. You see it's good this way 'cause I can't mess up anyone else's life but my own now. No wife, no family, no baseball. It's better this way."

"What do you mean, no baseball, and who is this better for?"

"I, uh. They cancelled my contract with the Card's. My shoulder's a wreck and I'm through playin'." I'd been dreading telling him. He'd been my biggest supporter, my biggest fan, and I was letting him down. I hated that.

"And this is a reason to leave your family?" I looked up at him, surprised by the lack of reaction to my not playing ball anymore.

"No, but the fact that I have nothing to give them is. I can't give them a better life, hell; I probably can't give them the life they have now. Besides, what else can I do? All I've ever done is play ball, and I can't do that anymore. I'm not much good for anything." I glanced up at him and saw that his face was rigid with disgust and shame. "See, you see it too."

After a lengthy pause, he leaned toward me steely eyes and a firm voice. "You're right. I don't like what I'm seein', but it's not why you think. Baseball, smaseball! Who care's if you're a ball player? Did you really think it was going to last forever? No, I'm ashamed my son has turned into a sad, little boy that gives up because he hurt his arm and the big bad baseball league doesn't want him anymore. They hurt your pride and told you you're not the man you thought you were. What do they know? I told you once I was proud of you, but now I have disgust and it has nothing to do with baseball. You have it all! You have that gorgeous wife of yours who loves you to death and that beautiful brown-eyed little girl who thinks the sun rises and sets for her dad. You've got your health," he paused then, noticing my disbelief. "Yeah, you do! So what if your shoulder isn't perfect? You still have an arm that works! You're still a young man, not tired and worn out like me! You have everything and you're willing to throw it all away for nothing!" He breathed heavily before shifting in his chair and rising to his feet. He stalked down the hall towards his bedroom and without looking back, called over his shoulder, "The couch is yours if you want it!"

I sat in silence and watched him disappear in his room. Where had all those words come from? What did it all mean? Willing the world to either disappear or stop entirely, I lowered my head into my hands. What the hell was I doing?

* * *

I went home the next morning after a restless night spent pacing my father's apartment. Everything was quiet in the early twilight as I unlocked the door and headed inside. When I finally found Marie, she was sleeping with her head resting on the table. Just seeing her brought on this incredible rush of love and concern. She was going to be so stiff and grumpy and it was my fault. My fault. Just like the tear stains resting on her pale cheek were my fault. I shook my head and sat down across from her, wondering how she could still love me after all I'd put her through. Somehow though, in spite of everything, I knew she loved me and would put up with me through just about anything. I honestly didn't deserve her.

"Hey." Her voice cut through the stillness and I jumped at the sound. She was groggy and her hair was disheveled, but she was still so beautiful to me.

I reached across the table and grabbed her hands. "I am so, so sorry."

Her eyes welled with tears and I slid out of my seat and closer to her, wrapping my arms around her body. She buried her head against me and cried as held her while I whispered my love and apologies into her ear. I don't know how long we sat there, but eventually the tears subsided, and she raised her head to look at me. Again I whispered, "I didn't mean it, I'm sorry, I..."

She placed a finger on my lips and studied my face. "It's okay Tony, I understand."

I wiped a tear away from her cheek with my thumb. "Do you really?"

Smiling sadly, she chuckled and shook her head. "No, but I'm willin' to try if you're willin' to try too."

* * *

It wasn't easy, and it didn't come overnight, but eventually we found a way to work things out. I got a job at a manufacturing plant and threw myself into spending time with my family and friends. That spring, I ended up coaching Sam's little league team, and if it wasn't the big leagues, it was thrilling in a new way. I found out that I liked working with kids, especially the one who called me dad. Was the glass half full or half empty? I still didn't know, but whatever it was I had was good enough. Life went on.


	13. Cleaning

**13**

The easy motion of sorting through the boxes soothed Tony. There was something about putting things in order, putting things where they were supposed to go that pleased him immensely. The hands-on nature of the work was satisfying to him in a way that sorting through old memories would never be. So, he dug into the boxes until the very last was empty and all that remained were scattered piles placed randomly about the room.

He got up and stretched, surveying at all the work that was left. Somehow, things always got messier before they got better. It was only when the front door slammed that he glanced out the window and noticed that the last remnants of light had faded into darkness. Where had the day gone?

The frown that crossed his face was quickly replaced by a smile as a familiar voice called out, "Hello! I'm home! Anybody here?" Faintly, he could hear the click of high heels on the hardwood floor. He was almost positive she was checking the kitchen before continuing her search. "Tony?" Angela's voice rang out through the silent house and his smile grew wider. She always looked for him first. "Jonathan? Mother? Anyone?"

He couldn't resist crossing over to the door and calling out to her. "Up here!" While a part of him longed to just finish what he started, a larger part of him wanted to see her. Actually, a large part of him wanted to rush down the stairs to greet her, but restraint and a sense of duty held him back. He waited until he was sure that he could hear her footsteps mounting the stairs, before turning back to his mess. Tiredly, he scrubbed his face and ran his hands through his hair. Such a big mess.

"Tony?" Angela called again, her voice nearer, but still uncertain.

"In the attic." The tap of her heels sounded once again on the stairs and he grinned when she appeared at the door. "You found me."

Her grin matched his. "It wasn't easy, but I always do."

"Yeah, you do don't you?" He walked over and wrapped his arms around her, enjoying the feel of her body pressed against his. She looked up at him sweetly and they shared a warm kiss. "So...Good day?"

"Uh-huh," she answered, distracted by the state of their surroundings. "Um, Tony. What are you doing up here?"

Briefly, he looked away. "Just some cleaning."

"Cleaning? Are you sure? It looks more like a rummage sale." Her nose crinkled up at the mess.

"Eh-oh. You don't like my cleaning methods?" he teased.

"Well, it's not so much the method as it is the lack of cleanliness."

With twinkling eyes, he responded, "Well you know what they say...."

"What?"

"I've got no idea, but they say it." He laughed at his own joke before releasing his hold on her. Turning, he waved at the mess. "This...this is a work in progress."

"Some progress," she retorted merrily as she glanced around the room. "Well, I should probably go and leave you to it."

"Yeah, yeah," he agreed, rubbing his hands together. "You hungry?"

Angela shook her head. "No, I ate in the city." She turned to go, but paused at the top of the stairs, hesitating before finally giving in and asking, "Tony, are you alright?"

"Oh yeah, couldn't be better. Why?"

"I don't know, you just seem.... Do you need any help?" She moved nearer to him.

"Nah. I've got things covered. You go do what you need to do."

"Oh. Okay then." She nodded and turned to leave again, when something caught her eye, something that seemed to explain his presence in the attic. Leaning forward, she grabbed an old photo frame and studied it closely. "She really was beautiful. Sam looks just like her."

"Yeah." He looked down and toed a scuff mark on the floor

"Tony," she said softly, "What are you doing up here?"

His body sagged a little and he sat down wearily on an old steamer trunk. "Goin' through some old things. This," he reached toward her and grabbed the picture, cradling it in his hands. "This is goin' to Sam." Briefly, he traced the features of the face that stared up at him from the frame. "She should have it. It's not doin' anyone any good up here."

Angela smiled sympathetically and sat down beside him. "That's a good idea. Sam will love it."

He looked up at her eagerly, "You think?"

Sagely, she nodded and added, "I know."

They sat in silence for several moments, contemplating the face of Tony's first love, before Angela spoke again. "Tony...."

He interrupted her. "I never talk about her, you know. I mean, Sam and I, sometimes we talk about the old days. What it was like before... But I don't... I just can't talk about her with other people."

"Tony, you don't have to...."

"Yeah, I do. Cause you and me, we don't keep the important stuff from each other."

"I understand."

"I know you do, but I've been thinking that maybe it's time to let Marie go. I can't keep holding onto the idea of her and keep living my life. It's not fair to her. Or to you."

"Tony, she was your wife. You loved her. I don't need for you to let go of that. I know you love me too. What was...doesn't matter."

He stared at her for a long moment and then took her hand and squeezed it. "You're amazing, you know that? But this," he gestured toward the pile of boxes, "this is something I gotta do."

She nodded and tried to get up. "I'll leave you to it then."

He held her hand tight and refused to let go. "Stay."

"Tony, I...."

"Please?"

She looked into his dark eyes and smiled at what she found there. "So, what can I do?"

"You can listen, if you want, or help me pack. All this stuff, the memories, it's hard to go back there." Tony shrugged and began placing a few items in a box.

A wave of silence fell between them as they repacked the boxes and hung heavy in the air. Finally, Angela cleared her throat. "Uh, Tony?"

"Yeah?" He didn't look up.

"How can I listen if you're not talking?"

"I'm not sure what to say." He shrugged, "Ask me something, anything."

Nervously, she studied him. "Anything?"

He nodded.

"I feel like I know her, because I know you and Sam and I met Nick... Sam's told me some things, Mrs. Rossini too... but...I don't know, there's things I wish I knew."

It took a moment for him to respond. "Like what?"

"Oh, little things mostly. Like what it was like with you and her when Sam was a baby.... The things you loved about her and the things that bugged you the most.... What she wanted for Sam.... And..." her voice faded to a whisper. "...How she died." Angela wrapped her fingers around Tony's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, waiting to hear his answer.


	14. Time to Go

_Disclaimer: The usual things apply..._

_A/N: This chapter (and the next one) isthe reason it's taken me months to finish this fic, which is odd, because it's the chapter I saw most clearly from the beginning. And to Mimi, Alyssa & CKS24 - thank you for taking the time to review and letting me know there is someone out there reading this - You're fab!_

* * *

14...

There's so much I remember about that day, and so much that has blurred to the edges of my mind. I remember the pound of my feet on the hot pavement as I wound myself through the streets of Brooklyn on my morning run. I remember the trickle of sweat that ran down the back of my neck and pooled in between my shoulder blades. I remember glancing up at the spring flowers decorating the stand outside the market, filling the street with their heady scent. I remember wanting to pick up a bouquet for Marie just so I could see her face light up, and I remember the smile that I threw at the shopkeeper as I passed by. Mostly, I remember the heat and the way it felt to be so alive on the first truly warm day of the summer.

I jogged into the apartment and smiled at the sounds of my wife and daughter chatting away over breakfast. Sam was in the middle of telling a story about how she wasn't allowed to join the boys' baseball team at school. One of the nuns had told her that it wasn't appropriate for little girls to play on sports teams with boys. She shook her head and scrunched up that tiny face in indignation and I immediately wanted to step in and fix things for her. But Marie, always the optimist, was already pointing out the bright side of things. She was telling Sam that things weren't so bad, that at least she'd still be able to play with the boys in the neighborhood, and that it was likely she'd be one of the best players on the girls' team. That's when I snuck up from behind, pulling Samantha up into my arms, and adding my proud assurance that she was the best, girls and boy's teams together. She shrieked and giggled, Marie looked up at me with the quiet smile of hers, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.

A little while later, Sam trundled off school, and Marie and I fell into our usual morning routine. I hopped in the shower while she cleared away the morning dishes. I could hear her laughing away over the rush of water as I did my best Gene Kelly impression of "_Singing in the Rain_." Then, freshly cleaned and steamed, I walked into the kitchen to watch as she put the last of the dishes away. We wasted the rest of the morning talking about Sam and the things going on in our lives. We talked about our parents, my work, and her frustrations with the street fair committee. We debated over whether we should try to take summer vacation and I agreed to put in for some time off. That being settled, I pulled her towards me and drew her into a kiss, which led to...well, other things, but only after she playfully swatted me away with her tea towel. Finally, when the morning wore into afternoon, I pulled on my work clothes and left, casually dropping a kiss her cheek as I headed out the door.

What can I say? It was just another typical day in our lives. We followed the routine we'd built since I'd started working the swing shift at the plant. It was a typical day. Typical, at least until my supervisor came up to me on the floor and told me I had a call. That it sounded important, that I could take it in his office. I stared at him in confusion, surprised by this serious breach of the rules. The one thing all new workers learned was that you didn't get calls while you on the floor. There were no excuses, no exceptions; it was the number one rule. That's why there was always at crush of people at the phone during our coffee breaks. That's why almost everyone around me stopped and stared as he delivered the news.

In my memory, the room that the nurse led me to was silent, still, and dimly lit. Thinking back, I know that it couldn't have been any of those things because it was the emergency room of a large city hospital. The lights were likely bright and harsh, everything loud and chaotic. It must've been that way, but I don't remember any of that. I only remember the nurse's steps as she crossed the room toward that small frame lying in that equally small bed. I remember her urging me forward as I lingered near the door, unsure of what to do. I was so eager to disprove the lie that I was sure the hospital was telling me, but I was hesitant too, because there was a nagging voice inside my head asking 'what if?'. I'd been told what happened but I didn't want to believe it. The person on the other end of the phone had explained it. An accident. Marie had been walking past an alley, a car had pulled out, and the sun had blinded the driver. He didn't see her and his reactions were slow because he'd had a couple of drinks after work. He wasn't legally drunk, and he probably wouldn't have seen her anyway, but.... There had been an accident and I should get to the hospital as soon as possible.

The nurse lifted the sheet, and all my thoughts stilled. There were no prayers after that, no denials, only me moving quickly towards the bed and dropping to my knees at Marie's side. Only me desperately grabbing her hand and searching her face for a glimpse of the woman I loved. There were no tears, no words, nothing I could say or do to make it not real.

Time passed. I don't know how much. Her hands felt too cold, the veins standing out blue against the paleness her skin. Her face seemed the same; only of it lacked the rosy blush that was so familiar. There was no cute dimple gracing her cheek, no smile to light up the room.

Then against the silence, I heard a throat being cleared. The same nurse as before stood at the door, gently suggesting it was time to go. I looked up at her and wanted to scream that I couldn't leave, but the words stuck in my throat. I had to leave. There were things I needed to do, people who needed to be told. Marie's parents. Sam. My God, not Sam... I squeezed Marie's hand one last time, willing strength from her silent form.

It was time to go.


	15. Alone

_Disclaimer: WTB? own do not I._

* * *

15...

Somehow, I expected to find everything completely changed when I walked back through those cold, sterile doors out into the world. It felt wrong that nothing was different but me. The sun still blazed high above and the steady hum of traffic and noise still filled the air. I paused, staring up at the clear blue sky and tried to figure out what I should do, but my mind felt empty and numb. All I could think to do was keep moving, and so I began to walk. It didn't matter where I was or what I was doing; all I could do was follow the path my feet chose to take.

Then, after passing through an endless number of streets and neighborhoods, I found myself staring up at the window of Marie's parent's place. I staggered a little as a flood of memories hit. I could hear her laughter on the wind, feel the first hesitant kisses, hear her voice calling up to her parents that she was marrying me, see the hint of moonlight on her face as we drove off to our lives together. I closed my eyes, struggling to push the thoughts away. Remembering was too much; I had to keep moving or else I was gonna fall apart. So, I took a big breath and forced myself to the front door.

I don't know what I expected. I'm not even sure I expected anything at all. There were tears and strangled cries, lots of anger, and finally a sort of weary acceptance. It was my fault. In Nick's eyes, everything was my fault. She should've had the van and I shouldn't have been working the swing shift. I shouldn't have let her walk... What could I do but stand there and take it? Nick was only saying what I was thinking.

* * *

The stairs up to Mrs. Rossini's apartment loomed large before me and I dreaded what was waiting for me when I got to the top. I didn't even think that Sam would be anywhere but there. Mrs. R, she always looked after Sam, and if Marie wasn't there, then Mrs. R would be. She'd been there for me when I was growing up. She was there for me now. Of course, she'd be there for Sam.

My hand fell heavy on the door and I could hear Mrs. R's irritated squawk as she bustled over to the peephole. She flung open the door and immediately began scolding me for knocking. Didn't I know better? I was family and I should just come right in. She went on like that for a long time before realizing that I was just standing there, not saying a word. Her voice trailed off as she stopped and peered into my face.

"My God, Tony what's happened?"

Feeling a sudden rush of emotion, I shook my head and croaked, "Is Sam here?"

"Tony, what's going on? Why are you? Why isn't?" She stopped again before asking in a tremulous voice, "Where's Marie?"

I met her eyes then and I think she saw the truth in my eyes. "No." She shook her head and finger at me. "She's just runnin' late, right? Or she's sick, or...or..."

I couldn't say anything, but it didn't matter because in a heartbeat she'd clobbered me with a breathtaking hug. "No! No, not that!" she cried, finding her tears more easily than me. I let her hug me but I was thinking about Sam. More than anything, I needed to see her and know she was all right. "Mrs. Rossini, I gotta talk to Samantha."

She took a step back, giving me a sorrowful look before replying, "She's in the other room watching television, the poor darling. I'll get her. You just sit."

* * *

I don't remember much of what I said to Sam. How do you tell your little girl that her mother's never going to be around again? How do you tell her that the best thing in her world suddenly just isn't in it anymore?

She took it silently, stoically, with those big brown eyes staring up at me. She was eight and a half years old and her life wasn't supposed to be this way. She didn't cry, didn't react, she just listened to my faltering words and when I'd finally managed out all I could, she took my hand and spoke to me solemnly, "We're gonna be okay Daddy, don't worry."

I nodded and kissed her forehead, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes for the first time. "I love you Samantha...your Mommy, she...." but I couldn't go on.

"It's okay Daddy."

I closed my eyes and shook my head as she crawled into my arms. It wasn't okay, but I hoped that someday it would be.

* * *

The next couple of days passed in an endless fog filled with visitors and casserole dishes. It wasn't until later, after the funeral, after the wake, and after our fridge was packed full with food, that reality began to settle in. My father drove me back to the hospital to pick up my van. He seemed to know that words weren't what I needed, so we drove in silence until we reached the parking lot. Then, as the car idled under yet another steamy day, he cleared his throat. "You take the time you need. I stay with Sam until you come back."

He wasn't one for words, never much of a talker. He'd been in my shoes though, and he knew. All he could do was let me be.

When he was gone, I reached up to adjust the visor against the sun and something tumbled into my lap. It was the button Marie'd tacked up there on our wedding day. It hit me then; she was gone and I was alone.


	16. Was You

_We've come to the end, my friends. I'd actually believed it would never happen. Thanks for the comments & encouragement – they meant a lot._

* * *

_16..._

"…I was alone and it hurt more than anything I'd ever felt before."

"Oh, Tony…" Angela's voice reached out to him in the silence of the attic.

Startled out of his reverie, Tony looked up at her in surprise. He'd almost forgotten she was there, except for the feel of her hand wrapped around his. He gave a lop-sided grin and looked away, not wanting to see the tears in her eyes.

She didn't say anything more, only tightened her grasp on his hand.

After a few moments, he cleared his throat and began speaking again. "Those first couple months, they were rough. I was still trying to work at the plant and take care of Samantha and keep up the apartment. It seemed like I was always playing catch-up. I tried so hard to do everything the way Marie had done it, you know? You may think that I'm a pro at the housekeeping stuff now, but back then… I mean, I knew how to cook and clean; my Pop and I had been on our own long enough that it was something I knew how to do, but I'd gotten so used to Marie taking care of everything, especially the stuff with Sam. I didn't really have time for all the girly stuff. I think that's why Sam became such a tomboy, because it was easier and it was something I understood. Sports were easy; dresses and dolls weren't. Anyways, what I'm trying to say is that Sam and me were struggling. And then I lost my job."

"The plant fired you?"

"Yeah, well, they tried to make it work at first, but you can only miss one too many shifts or show up late so many times before it starts becoming a problem."

"It still doesn't seem fair, I mean, after all you'd been through."

"It's business Angela. Not too many bosses are as understanding as you."

She smiled at that. "They just didn't know what they had."

"Well, maybe it was for the best. Workin' the swing shift was killin' me. One week I'd be working all night and then the next I'd only have mornings or evenings. Sam needed something more stable."

"So, what did you do?"

"Joe Rossini, Mrs. R's husband, he offered me a couple of days a week in the fish shop and I started making pizza deliveries again. It wasn't perfect, but it was a little more flexible. I was mostly around when Sam got up or came home from school. Luckily, I had Mrs. Rossini and my Dad. They looked out for Sam when I wasn't there."

"What about Marie's parents?"

"Marie's mom, she was never very healthy, and after…. She passed away a couple months after Marie. Nick, he didn't take it so well. That's when he really started getting in deep with the gambling and the fencing used parts." He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, feeling even more tired than before.

Angela studied him for a moment before gently asking, "Tony, what made you decide to move here?

With a confused look, he replied, "You know why. I wanted a better life for Sam."

She shook her head, "No. I mean, I know that was part of the reason, but why then? Why three years after Marie died? It couldn't have just been about Sam. You love Brooklyn. Your whole life was there."

"It wasn't something I rushed into, I'd been thinking about it for a while."

"And?"

"And what, Angela? Marie was gone. My family was gone. All I had left was a crummy one-bedroom apartment and too many memories."

"You had your friends though."

"But…"

She looked at him.

"I wasn't happy. Everywhere I looked were memories of the people I'd lost an' it seemed like everything I was tryin' to hang onto was slippin' through my fingers, including Sam."

"You had a lot to deal with. It's only natural that you'd feel that way."

"But it wasn't natural to me. I was used to bein' the best and then I wasn't. I'd already lost the two most important things to me: Marie and baseball. Then I got fired and I couldn't afford to keep our apartment. I had friends yeah, but I didn't have the time to spend with them when I was tryin' to take care of Sam, an' as it was I barely got to see her. Relationships, hah!" Tony looked down, trying to edit out the worst so that she wouldn't think less of him. "Any relationship's I had were of the one-night stand type. And then my father died, just like that." He snapped his fingers in demonstration. "One day he was there, driving his route, giving me a hard time about my life, and the next day he wasn't. I dunno, I guess I just…"

She nodded in understanding, "You needed a fresh start."

"I did." Tony smiled back at her a little wistfully. "The day I got sent out here to make that delivery of fish… I took one look at all the space and greenness and… It gave me hope."

"Hope?" she questioned.

"Yeah, hope. For the first time in a long time it felt like I had choices."

"And so you came."

"I came and I found it."

She skirted a little closer to him and looked into his eyes. "What did you find?"

"The thing I didn't know I was looking for. A brand new life, a new family, you."

"And look at what we have." She leaned in and kissed him.

It hit him then, the thing that had been missing, and the thing that was holding him back. It wasn't that he wanted the life he'd had with Marie back or that he didn't love the life he'd made. It was just that he felt guilty for moving on. Deep inside, he knew he wasn't the same guy who longed for a chance to play ball and felt it was his wife's job to take care of him. He'd grown, he'd changed, and he didn't necessarily want to be who he used to be. Yet, he still wanted to be able to fit in with the crowd in Brooklyn, hang out at Marty's and spend a night carousing with the guys. Of course, there was a fat chance of fitting in if he used words like 'carousing'; the guys would laugh him out of the bar. It was clear that it all came down to a choice. He could move forward or hold onto the past: Brooklyn Tony or Connecticut Tony.

Though it was likely that he'd never fit into either world perfectly, one look into Angela's eyes told him that the choice had been made long ago. Long before their first kiss or first hug. Maybe it'd been made the day they'd first laid eyes on each other. Maybe even before that.

It just took him a while to see it.

Studying the face of the woman he'd tried so hard not to love, he realized that for once in his life he felt completely at peace. This was it. This was where he was meant to end up. Elbowing her lightly in the ribs, he grinned, "Come on, let's go find something to eat."

Laughing in response, she took his hand and led him down the stairs.


	17. Epilogue

_Epilogue: (Because I can't let go that easy)_

Close your eyes for a moment and picture the living room of the Bower household.

It's evening, possibly the same evening as this story takes place, possibly not. The whole Bower-Micelli clan is gathered together, digging through an assortment of boxes. There's a lot of chatter going on, a lot of laughter.

Over in the armchair closest to the kitchen sits Jonathan, leafing though a collection of old records, and questioning the musical taste of days gone by. He gets up and walks over to the record player, placing one of his finds on the turntable in spite of Tony's grumbling protests. Mona is sitting in the other armchair, casually watching everyone else and dishing out witty asides, as each new item is uncovered. Tony and Samantha sit on the couch, picking through a pile of old photographs. Angela sits close behind Tony on the arm of the couch, occasionally leaning in to get a better look or ask a question. Samantha finds a photo of three young boys (or men, as Tony suggests) posing for the camera and flexing their freshly tattooed arms. She laughs at her father, demanding an explanation. Tony hedges at first, but then launches into the story of his first tattoo with only the tiniest bit of prodding.

Can you see it? I can. It's the picture I've had in my head all along. It's the final piece of the puzzle for me, the conclusion to a long-winded journey through Tony's earlier life, his life before.

I just hope you found the journey worthwhile.

_The End_

(finally!)


End file.
